The Art Of Living
by AtomicArt
Summary: Building character through artwork as we mask our emotions within it, this is the way of an artist. Deidara's life was never a bed of roses, from start to finish. M to be safe; adventure/tradgedy because we know who this is about.


Hello, everyone:D Nice to see you all again.

This story I started just recently while I was thinking about how annoyed I was at the fact that Masashi didn't give us much on Deidara's past, something I've always wondered about. I know people have done stuff like this before, but I've never read it, so if this has any similar content to other writers' stories, it's a coincidence and I'm terribly sorry.

Anyway, this is supposed to be about Deidara's past...up until his future (which most people call "life":o). It's also supposed to be very dramatic, so I'm sorry if there's something in it that you don't like but it's all left to my imagination, therefore, this story is copyrighted mine up until when Kishimoto's story comes in. I might never finish this, or it might go downhill, but either way, it's [technically my first story here on and I'm very proud of it thus far. I'll try to update soon if I get enough reviews (which would be AMAZING)...

**Disclaimer: **Deidara is strictly copyrighted Masashi Kishimoto, however the original characters "Kazumi" and "Hatori" are mine. Don't worry, there will be no Ocs in this story...just key people in Deidara's life.

**Description: **Building character through artwork as we mask our emotions within it, this is the way of an artist. Deidara's life was never a bed of roses, from start to finish. M to be safe; adventure/tragedy because we know who this is about.

Here we go!

PROLOGUE

Love. A word very uncommon in the vocabulary of a shinobi. Lives come and go as the sakura's blossoms bloom and wither with the seasons, as blood spills on the dirt of a poor man's ground, malicious intent inscribed on the sword. We are taught from the day we are born to throw away that with which moulds character, to care not when blood of a loved one is shed, to care only about the mission and the rewards of the win.

Some of us are unique.

Those who find ways to release their love, their passion, their confidence in a simple move of the hand through clay. Building character through artwork as we mask our emotions within it, this is the way of an artist.

A woman knelt by the window of the broken-down house, staring thoughtfully at the people passing by in the streets of Iwagakure. She was beautiful beyond belief, her long blonde hair cascading down her small back, a sad smile gracing her bright features as she blinked her bright blue, exotically shaped eyes. Her fair skin shone in the light of the sun and a thin hand reached up to wipe a single tear streaming down the soft skin of her cheek.

She spoke softly, her feminine voice barely reaching the level of a mouse.

"Is this really good for him? Can he not be taught any other way?"

The woman's significant other sat across from her, his stone-like face barely batting an eye at the woman's extreme grief. His long chestnut hair covered half his face but he tucked it behind his ear to stare at his wife with his cold blue eyes. He lay his strong hands in his lap, a polite gesture in the melancholy situation, and nodded his head in a small bow to the woman, his thin lips pursing in insecurity of the situation.

"Kazumi. It's the only way he'll learn."

This silenced the one called Kazumi for a while, until she mustered all the courage she could to speak again:

"He'll get hurt, Hatori-san. He'll get hurt because he's different."

She turned her head to avoid his gaze but Hatori 's hand was too strong. In one quick moment, he had her small chin in his firm grasp and, lifting it up to speak again, in a sadistic tone, "Of course he will. He'll be terribly hurt. But if I don't do this, he won't learn, and he'll grow up to be as worthless as _you_." With his last words, he brought her chin up further and moved his down, so he was hissing in her ear the exact words that brought her so much pain every time. She snapped her eyes shut, more tears forming at the rim of her eyes. Over and over, ringing in Kazumi's head.

_Don't cry. Don't move. Don't breathe; he'll only hurt you again._

Her lithe body shuddered as his hand slowly eased the grip on her chin, and he once again stated, "He'll get hurt. But if he makes the wrong move, that's his punishment."

Kazumi slowly lowered her head in shame, her golden hair falling over her face and masking the tears and repeated sobs that were soon to come. She would never be anything more than an aid in her son's destruction.

As if that wasn't foresight; I hope you all enjoyed my writing at it's best. Like I said before, I'm really hoping this one won't go downhill, as I do have a habit of not finishing things. I'm not done with chapter 1 yet but I'll be sure to finish it if I get...hmm, let's start small; seven reviews, all right? That shouldn't be too much to ask. See you in chapter one

Atomic Art.


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